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Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Six-Sentence Scenarios: Aldrin (Lithus Sector)

Everything you need to kick off an adventure in six sentences.
No stats. No particular System. No guru, no method, no teacher, no hassle.
Just the raw six-sentence skeleton for you to hang whatever flesh upon it you like.

A group of xeno-paleontologists are outfitting a mission to the South Pole. Satellite surveys have indicated that there is a large artificial structure deep within the ring of volcanoes at the pole. A preliminary team sent back some incredible samples. Half of them believe it is a Precursor-site. Despite the carvings and markings on the fragments so far recovered not matching anything heretofore attributed to the Pylon-Builders. Could this be evidence of a second Precursor-species?

The Masqued Doge of Kalemtrine-Commune has decreed vendetta against all Corprist personnel who remain within his domain after sunset today. That gives Merellon agents and operatives roughly 42 hours to get everyone out. Not everyone wants to go. Armed Response Teams are being readied for a few quick extractions. The other Aerostat-Communes are watching everything. Your job is to make a thorough mess of this effort, as per orders from the chief of counter-corporate espionage.

Dome Five has gone offline. All communications are down. This undersea city-state was founded as a scientific utopia devoted to the exploration of the deep-water ecologies of Aldrin. They were fiercely independent and had a mutual-protection pact with two of the larger, more prominent nanoflagellate-fleets. Now the two fleets are scrambling to to find out what happened, but they cannot send in any of their own operatives without violating their respective agreements. Looks like a job for a team of independent contractors.

A huge cyst-like bulge of hyper-coral has formed in the Dog Leg Channel off the coast of Samarkis Isle, a major offworld tourist-spot. The object is growing rapidly. Already it is disrupting air traffic in the area and all Aerostat-Communes within a ten mile radius are evacuating. Evidence of a closed-loop nanological sub-system has been reliably confirmed. It is a self-directed starship of some unidentified type. It's leaving.

Each year, at either solstice, there is a great race of mat-skippers and similar vehicles on Aldrin. The race begins at Lower Uthrigon, per tradition, and proceeds along a different route each time. The competition is intense and carries a lot of offworld ratings. More than half of all competitors are offworlders. While enjoying lunch with some friends you witness a botched mugging. Only it wasn't really a mugging--the victim was a courier working for the Great Race and you are now in possession of a sealed packet that may or may not have the next race's course contained within it.

A small company of young, upstart Achernarians are looking to set-up an exotic bivalve ranching operation somewhere in the outback of Aldrin. There's no regulatory red-tape to stop them. But one of the local busy-bodies, a freelance blogger based out of Duriss-Kadricky Platform in the Sea of Giskay, has taken an interest in this project. A very unwelcome interest. The Achernarians would like for the blogger to go away. Quietly, if possible.

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